BRAIN AGAINST BRAWN
by MorphoFan
Summary: OT3 Gen. A day off spent watching a movie with 21 turns into a disagreement, which leads to an afternoon of delightfully ticklish torture for The Monarch. Told in First Person by 21.


BRAIN AGAINST BRAWN

"This movie really asks you to suspend disbelief, doesn't it?" Monarch said, with a small chuckle.

"It's Robert Rodriguez," I replied, "That goes without saying."

We were enjoying a rare day off, waiting for Dr. Mrs. The Monarch to get off work. Monarch was sprawled out on the couch, and I sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against it, my arms stretched out to either side.

"That big guy," Monarch gestured at the screen, "With the machete, what's his name?"

"Machete," I said, grinning at him, "He's the title character, Machete."

Since we had no plans to go arching or Morpho-ing, we were both in our civilian clothes. I was in my usual plaid short-sleeve shirt, undershirt and shorts.

Monarch was, incredibly, dressed in a pair of jeans and one of the stupid gag t-shirts from his bachelor party. His black zentai was at Enzo's for repairs. I guess he'd taken his wife's comment about always laying around in his robe to heart, hence the jeans and t-shirt.

"There's no way a big lug with a knife would be able to thwart those dudes in the suits," Monarch continued, "They're way smarter than he is, he should have been toast in Act One."

"Woulda been a short movie," I said, not really following my boss's logic, "And brains don't count for much when you're facing a blade the size of a baseball bat."

"No, no, brain always trumps brawn," Monarch insisted, running a hand through his dark red hair, "That's like, super-villainy 101."

"Ehhh, not always," I objected.

"That's why you usually have one or two highly-intelligent leaders and a crap-load of big, dumb, expendable henchmen," Monarch continued, ignoring me.

I just looked back at him, feeling hurt.

He glanced down at me, and seemed confused, I guess from the look on my face. But then he smiled and stretched his leg to nudge me playfully with his bare foot.

"Hey," he said, kindly, "YOU are NOT expendable, dude."

I managed to smile a little, and gave a small nod.

"You're, like, TOTALLY the opposite of expendable," he went on, emphatically, "You're as important to this team as me and The Mrs. You're FAMILY, dude."

I ducked my head as I felt my face go pink. Monarch didn't show his sweet side very often, and it usually caught me off-guard.

"Thanks, man," I murmured softly, smiling.

"But all that aside," he said, "In any situation, you're better off with someone smart than someone hella strong."

"If you say so, dude," I replied with a shrug.

And then he just lay there, all smug and completely confident that he'd won the debate. He stretched and folded his arms behind his head.

Right then and there, I decided that this could be a teachable moment. An idea came to mind, and I grinned to myself. I waited until he got lost in the movie again, and then I struck.

Lunging, I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him off the couch, throw pillows flying everywhere. I pushed him down onto the floor on his back.

"ACK! What the hell?" he yelled, trying to squirm away from me, "21!?"

Monarch has a good half a head on me in height, but I outweigh him by about a hundred and twenty pounds. Even so, he put up a valiant fight, chuckling and smacking at my arms as I tried to grab his wrists.

I laid on my side next to him and hooked my leg over both of his, pinning his lower body against the floor. Next, I got my hand around one of his wrists. He tried to pry my fingers off, and I grabbed his other wrist. I pulled his right arm straight and pinned it under my body, then pulled his left arm up and pressed his wrist to the floor above his head with my left hand.

"OK, let's see you 'smart' your way out of THIS," I said, smirking down at him.

I let him fight me for a minute, watching him wear himself out. Finally he stopped fighting, and just glared up at me.

"OK, fiiine, you win," he said, grudgingly, "In certain RARE situations, muscle can win out over intelligence. Are you happy now?" He lay there scowling, his chest heaving.

I just grinned down at him, not moving, holding him prisoner. He was completely at my mercy. I could do with him whatever I wanted.

So I did.

With my free hand, I reached down and tugged his t-shirt out of his jeans and pushed it up past the base of his rib-cage.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Monarch demanded.

I just smiled wider at him, then moved my hand to hover over his exposed belly.

His eyes flew open wide and a look of panic came over his face as realization sunk in.

"No!" he shouted, "No, 21, don't you dare!"

I didn't touch him yet, just wiggled my fingers teasingly, barely a half an inch from his skin, drawing out the suspense.

"I FORBID it!" Monarch shouted, pulling at his trapped arms, shaking his head frantically, "I am your leader and I order you..."

I scuttled my fingers across his tummy.

"OH SHIT! HAHAHAHAHAAA!"

He dissolved into hysterical laughter, arching his back, twisting, yanking at his imprisoned arms. When none of that worked he resorted to impassioned pleading.

"Pleasepleaseplease, no, pleeeease!" he shrieked, "Stop! Please! Pleeheeheeheese st... st...stop!"

"Are you kidding?" I asked, making another pass across his helpless belly with my fingers, eliciting a new burst of laughter and pleas, "This is way too much fun."

"GAAH, STOP! STAHHHP! FUUUHAHAHAHAHUUUCK!"

He gave up struggling and just threw his head back, laughing.

"21! I... HAHAHAAA... will fucking F-FIRE YOU... I s-s-swearHAHAHA!"

"Seriously, this might actually be worth getting fired over," I chuckled, leaning over to look at his red, sweaty face. I paused to let him rest for a few seconds and catch his breath, but I never loosened my hold on him.

Now it was time to start experimenting. I found myself taking mental notes, a sort of inventory of which techniques worked best.

Light, spider-like fingers running back and forth across Monarch's belly resulted in your basic, joyful laughter and begging, with occasional profanity.

Next I used my fingernails to gently scratch at his ribs.

"HEEEEEYYYYYYYY!"

That produced a high-pitched screech that started the neighbors' dog barking.

With a single fingertip, I began tracing up and down the long, deep hollows on either side of his prominent six-pack. This caused his whole body to go rigid, accompanied by loud guffaws.

"HAHAHAHAHAAAAA! NOOOO!"

Tracing the outlines of the individual six-pack muscles themselves produced an even stronger reaction, his belly shuddering away from my touch.

"Youhoohoohoo... FUH... FUHHAHAHA... FUCKER!" He choked out, glaring at me and laughing at the same time.

Next I tugged his jeans down an inch or so and went after his hipbones, pinching and tweaking at one, and then the other. Then I skimmed my fingertips back and forth over the taut, pale skin that stretched between them.

"EEEEEEK! FUCKFUCKFUCK, GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, STAHHHHP!"

Interesting. Frantic thrashing, bucking, screaming, and death threats.

Delicate, feathery fingertip caresses to his belly button resulted in pained mewling and more desperate pleading.

"Nnnnnggghhh," Monarch groaned, still feebly trying to escape from my grip of iron, "Please... please... no more... please..."

"WHAT is going ON here?"

The deep voice startled both of us, and Monarch and I both looked over to see Mrs. standing there in the doorway with her hands on her hips, looking shocked. Monarch had been making so much noise, I hadn't heard her come in.

"Ooh! Honey! SAVE ME!" Monarch exclaimed, "He's ticklAAACK! STOP! HAHAHA!"

I had resumed my attack on his belly button, grinning up at his wife the whole time.

Sheila tried to look serious, but then she burst out laughing and leaned against the door jamb, folding her arms, shaking her head.

"So THIS is what you two get up to when I'm not home," she said, coming to kneel at her husband's head, "Very cute."

She playfully shooed my hand away from Monarch's abdomen, then leaned down and kissed him, long and lingering, brushing the sweaty hair back from his brow.

I started to remove my leg from where it pinned Monarch to the floor, but Sheila held up a hand.

"Nono, 21," she said, "You just stay right where you are."

I settled back into position, my smile growing wider at this unexpected development.

Monarch looked up at her beseechingly as she pulled back from him.

"Um, sweetie?" he reiterated, struggling a little, "Save me?"

"Darling, I love you more than life itself," she began, running her fingertip down the bridge of his long nose..

Monarch and I glanced at each other quizzically.

"But... you DID go out on date night to spite me..."

Monarch shrank back from his wife a little, blinking up at her with huge, dark eyes.

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. The expression on his face had 'I am SO screwed' all over it.

"I'm sorry, but this is just TOO good an opportunity to pass up," she continued with a devilish grin and a wink at me.

Monarch got such a look of sheer panic on his face, that I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"OK, boss lady," I chuckled, "I am at your disposal. What are your orders?"

"Sit on him," she said simply, tugging off her gloves and tossing them onto the couch, "And give me his arms."

"WHAT?!" Monarch screeched.

I moved to straddle Monarch's thighs, and handed his wrists to his wife. She crossed them above Monarch's head, and then carefully knelt on his arms, rendering him completely immobile. She lifted his head to rest on the hammock her skirt formed across her thighs.

"Oh, fuck BOTH of you!" Monarch muttered, renewing his struggles.

She just chuckled softly, rolling his T-shirt up a little higher, exposing more of his torso. Then she reached down and began to tickle his armpits.

Monarch weighs about 185 pounds to my nearly 300, and I swear he almost bucked me off of him. It was impressive.

He shrieked and yelped, twisting this way and that, desperate to escape as his wife ruffled the sparse thatches of reddish hair under his arms.

"Nononono!" he wailed, "Honey! Pookums! PLEEEEEEASE!" He gave up the struggle and collapsed into a limp pile of laughter.

"Payback is a bitch, my love," she said softly, smiling down at him, "And so am I."

Next, she reached down with both hands to leisurely trail her long nails over every inch of his tummy. His hard abdominal muscles rippled like water, contracting and quivering under the pale skin, as if trying to escape from her delicate, terrible ministrations.

After a minute or so of that, Monarch's laughter was mostly silent, with chuffs of air replacing the guffaws from earlier. He had his eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down his face as he just lay there in a trembling heap, completely at her mercy.

I had to wonder if Sheila had any experience with torturing interrogation suspects, because at that moment I suspect Monarch would confess to being The Blue Morpho if she asked. Heck, he'd probably confess to being Santa Claus if it meant an end to the tickling...

"Who's my sweet, sensitive guy?" she cooed teasingly, tracing a single fingernail in little circles around his belly button.

Monarch just whimpered, biting his bottom lip.

"Looks like I finally found an effective way to manipulate you, my love."

Her hands drifted outward to his sides, nails lightly scraping up and down the smooth skin, then down to dance back and forth, just above the waistband of his jeans..

"Please," he begged breathlessly, writhing, eyes closed, "Honey... please..."

There was a tone of panic in Monarch's voice, and I was starting to get a little concerned. Sheila seemed to sense that he needed a rest, so she removed her hands from his sides, and instead caressed his flushed, sweaty face and kissed him.

"I love you, sweetness," she purred, running her fingers through his hair.

"I... want... a divorce," he gasped.

She and I both fell out laughing, she collapsing with her forehead on his chest, me falling sideways to lean on my arm.

"OK, 21, your turn again," she said, as we recovered, "Put those big, strong hands of yours to use."

I nodded with a wicked smile, cracked my knuckles, and leaned forward to grab Monarch's waist, kneading with my thumbs.

"Wait," Monarch gasped weakly, opening his eyes and looking desperately up at me, struggling to catch his breath.

"Please...21... I'm gonna pass out... please...!"

I stopped immediately and shot a worried look at Sheila.

She reached down and took his face in her hands, studying his eyes.

"Oh yeah, he needs a break," she said to me, "And something to drink. Be right back."

She scooted off his arms and handed me his wrists, and I took them. Her poor husband was so exhausted that he didn't even try to escape as she got to her feet and left the room.

I just sat there, straddling him, with his wrists clasped in my big hands. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be concentrating on just breathing for the moment.

"Monarch?" I asked worriedly. I transferred both his bony little wrists to my left hand and reached down with my right to cradle his face, "You OK, buddy?"

He nodded feebly, and managed a reassuring smile.

"Just need... a rest."

Sheila came back a few minutes later, with some bottles of water, a straw, a wet washcloth, and what looked like some folded fabric of some kind. She set everything on the couch, opened one bottle of water and handed it to me.

I took it gratefully, chugging it down. Tickle-torturing my boss was thirsty work.

She sat beside Monarch's head and gently wiped his face and neck down with the cool cloth. Then she uncapped another of the waters and popped a bendy straw into it.

"Here you go, baby," she said, raising his head with one hand and holding the straw to his lips with the other.

Monarch sucked down about three quarters of the bottle in one go, and then laid back against her hand.

"Thanks, sweetie," he breathed, closing his eyes again as she gently lowered his head to the floor.

Sheila opened another bottle of water for herself, and chugged half of it, then crept closer to me.

"Scoot towards his head a little, honey," she said to me.

I did as I was told, taking care not to put too much weight on Monarch's stomach. I still had his wrists in my hand, and wondered what Mrs. had in mind.

She picked up the small wad of fabric from the couch, then took my place straddling Monarch's thighs, but facing toward his feet.

"Can you sit him up and hold onto him from behind?" she called back over her shoulder.

"Oh what fresh Hell is THIS, now?" I heard Monarch mutter.

"Sorry dude, she's the boss," I chuckled.

"Traitor," he grumbled.

I moved off of his body and knee-walked up behind his head, still holding both his wrists in one hand. I sat him up and then scooted up to sit against his back, with my legs on either side of him. I crossed his arms over his chest and bear-hugged him against my own chest.

"Got him?" Sheila asked, twisting to look back at the two of us.

"I think so," I replied.

She gave us both an evil smile, and held up a long, silk scarf.

Monarch and I both watched as she wound the scarf around his legs, just above his knees, and tied it securely. Then she slid down toward his feet, keeping her weight on his legs.

He and I both realized what was going on at the same time.

"Oh, she isn't...," I laughed.

"Yeah, she fucking is," Monarch replied, starting to struggle against me.

I tightened my arms around him, even though by now, I sincerely felt sorry for him.

Sheila tied a second scarf around Monarch's ankles, then sat cross-legged and cradled his feet in her lap, pinning his shins under her arm. She looked up and blew Monarch a kiss.

"DON'T YOU DARE!" Monarch shouted, wrenching against me, "GODDAMMIT, SHEILA!"

I gasped.

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Did you just swear at me?'" she asked, grinning.

"Mmmaybe?" her husband replied, sheepishly.

"I thought so," she said, reaching down and skittering her nails over the soles of Monarch's bare feet.

The result was dramatic. Monarch thrashed in my arms, twisting, all the time shrieking and howling with laughter. He practically head-butted me at one point, so I kept one arm coiled around his body, and curled my other arm around his forhead, holding his head back against my shoulder.

Boss lady seemed to know exactly what to do to get the strongest reactions from her husband, and it made me wonder how often she administered this form of torture on him.

She stroked her nails up and down the soles of his feet a few times, focusing on his insteps. Then she moved to his toes, tickling each one with a single fingernail. Next she pulled his toes back and tickled underneath them, then between, and on top of them.

Monarch was now just screeching incoherently between explosions of laughter, still energetically trying to pull free of my hold.

When she began to tickle the tops of his feet, he gave a mighty heave in my arms, breaking loose. Before I could react, the back of his head slammed solidly against my face.

The pain... was excrutiating. There was explosion of blood in my mouth and a flash behind my eyes. I saw stars as I fell backwards to lay flat on the floor, and then everything went dark.

A hand was rubbing my chest.

"Dude? 21? C'mon, big guy, open your eyes. You're scaring me."

Monarch's voice sounded distressed.

Soft fingers were stroking my hair.

"Gary? Sweetie? Can you hear me?"

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch's voice sounded similarly anxious.

My face was throbbing, but slowly, the two familiar voices roused my consciousness, and I cautiously opened my eyes.

Monarch and Dr. Mrs. were leaning over me, both with very worried looks on their faces.

"What happened?" I asked, spitting out blood from my split lip.

"Oh dude," Monarch said, holding a relieved hand to his chest, "I thought I killed you for a second there!"

"Here, get him up," Sheila said.

They both wrapped their arms across my back, and eased me into a sitting position. Monarch reached behind him and retrieved the washcloth from earlier, and began to gently clean the blood from my face.

"I'm so sorry, dude," he murmured, his eyes full of concern and regret, "I didn't mean to slam you like that."

"It's OK, it was an accident," I replied, patting his shoulder. Poor guy. He really looked distraught about hurting me.

"I'm gonna make up an ice pack," Mrs. said, getting to her feet.

"Some ibuprofen would be nice, too!" I replied, holding the bridge of my nose.

"Sure, sweetie," she said with a smile, heading out the door.

"Hey grab us a couple of beers, would you, honey?" Monarch called after her.

"Don't press you luck, baby!" she called back.

Monarch and I both laughed, and then I groaned and held a hand to my poor, bashed face. My boss made a sympathetic sound, and went back to dabbing at my mouth with the washcloth.

"I suppose this was karma," I mumbled, "I started it, after all."

Monarch just chuckled, shaking his head.

"Hey now," he said, "You had a valid point to make about brains vs. brawn. Is your nose broken?"

"I don't think so," I replied, carefully palpating the bridge of my nose, "I don't feel anything crunching."

"I really am sorry," he said again, brushing my hair back from my eyes, looking closely at my eye, "Hope you don't have a concussion."

"You worry too much," I said, smiling at him, reaching up to tousle his hair, "I've been hit way worse."

He just nodded, then glanced back over his shoulder.

"So," he said quietly, leaning in conspiratorially, "When will you be ready to help me exact my revenge on my darling wife?" He grinned an evil grin and bobbed his crazy eyebrows.

I just shook my head, chuckling.

"I thought SHE was taking revenge on YOU?" I pointed out, "Wasn't that whole session about getting you back for going out with me on Date Night?"

"Yeah yeah," Monarch said, dismissively, "So are you in, or not?"

"Is she even ticklish?" I asked.

"Not as much as I am," he replied, "But if we team up..."

"OK, dude, but I need a few days for my freaking face to heal."

Monarch's grin widened, and he rubbed his hands together in villainous glee. Poor Sheila...

THE END


End file.
